


POV: Horns of Ebony

by SpoonerizeSwiftness (SplickedyHat)



Series: Splickedydrabbles: The Tumblr Request Collection [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance, Gen, Hate Crimes, Mutilation, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SplickedyHat/pseuds/SpoonerizeSwiftness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: Some part of Over the Waterfall from Sollux's perspective.</p><p>“They’re going to pay,” you say, half to her, half to yourself, and it’s just barely enough, the thought of justice.  Just barely.  “They’re going to pay for this.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	POV: Horns of Ebony

**Author's Note:**

> For the anonymous prompt on Tumblr, 
> 
> "uhhh, sorry, i know you said these take a lot of time and you didn't ask for requests or anything but I saw those pov drabbles that you made and maybe you could do someof over the waterfall from sollux's pov? maybe? you don't have to. ;^_^"
> 
> This is for you, apologetic anon. :D

Miss Peixes is a ball of nervous energy, holding on tight to your hand as she drags you through the streets.  You follow her as she half-runs ahead, fins twitching, wild with worry—and you’re about to grab her and ask her again if she’s sure he’s missing at all when you hear it.

A muffled scream. 

“Shh!” You hiss, and she goes immediately still.  Another noise—it’s far away, a sort of choked cry, and this time she hears it too and her eyes go wide.

“ _Oh my god that was_ Eridan!” She gasps, and she grabs you by the hand and takes off at a sprint.  She’s unbelievably fast; even with your long legs, you have to run as fast as you can to keep up.  The cries are dying away even as you get nearer—you cut down an empty street, past doors that close hastily as you pass, and alley after dark alley—

Three trolls, hunched over something in an alley.  Someone making soft sounds into the air that sound almost mocking, almost soothing,  _shoooooosh._ You can see a limp body on the ground, a dark coat. 

A hand wrapped hard around one lightning-bolt horn.

“Hey!”

All three of them jerk upright and stare at you.  Their pupils are huge, almost drugged, and you recognize the look—it’s like when you walk in on ( _accidentally_  take footage of) Gamzee and Karkat piling.  Big, soft eyes, drugged pupils, almost possessive defensiveness.  On the ground, Eridan shivers and you hear a single soft, high, catching sound—like a grub crying.  Like he doesn’t have enough in him to scream again.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing back there?”  You say, and you manage to keep it cold and quiet and blank, because you’re too angry to be angry.  Another low whine—they shuffle together, blocking the body on the ground from your sight again.  Your psionics crack and hiss in your skull.  “Get off him.”

They don’t move.

“ _Get off him,_ now,” you snarl, and see one of them still hunched over him, grey skin against bright orange ( _splattered purple there’s blood where is the blood coming from you’re going to kill them)_.  “If you don’t take that hand off his horn I’m going to tear it off your wrist, I swear.”

Feferi makes a quiet sound behind you—a painful sound, and you hold an arm out, blocking her as she tries to look into the alley as well.  She doesn’t need to see anyone touching her moirail like that, she doesn’t need to see anything except those assholes with their heads smashed in—

“I’m his palemate, sir,” says the one who had been touching his horns, and he stands up and he has  _blood_ , purple blood all over his claws and it takes everything you have not to rip his head right off his body when he pulls some money out of his pocket and holds it out to you, smiling a smile that’s all confident, conspiratorial syrup.  “—you wouldn’t interrupt me in taking care of my moirail, would you?  He’s just a little upset right now, that’s all.”

_You are a representative of the emperor and you will not splatter them up the sides of the alley._

You grit out something approximating a fair warning and then, because they’re surprised and still smiling and they think they can  _argue this point with you_ , you gesture back to Feferi and spit “—for fuck's sake,  _I’ve_  got  _his palemate_ right here!”

You would have sworn Eridan was unconscious or worse, but at that he jerks weakly, tosses uneasily onto his side and groans.  You see his face turn towards you, a dim splash of dark blood and white-grey skin in the shadows (more blood than skin).   _“Fef—“_ he whimpers, and you can’t even tell if he can see you or not.  “… _no…_ ”

Feferi shoves past you with a horrible, fearful sound; someone gets in her way and she plows right through him like he’s not there.  He’s unconscious before he hits the ground and she doesn’t stop to look, just drops down next to her moirail, pulling him into her lap.  He lies like a fresh corpse, limp and sprawling at broken angles, still trembling.

It takes less than five seconds to take out the remaining two pieces of scum-blooded shit when they charge you.  You crack their heads together and take a horrible satisfaction in their cries of pain before they fall unconscious and you drop them bodily in a heap of moldy trash. 

You take two deep breaths, and then advance slowly and dare to look over Feferi’s shoulder. 

Eridan is huddles in Peixes’ arms, shaking all over.  You can’t see most of his face, but his eyes catch shards of light falling through the heavy drapery between the streets and the sun.  His pupils are blown out so huge you can’t see the purple in his eyes anymore, and his eyes waver and wander, then slowly fix on your face.  You see the flicker of recognition.

“… _Captor_ ,” he croaks.  He’s hoarse from screaming, and when he tries to form words they come out as weak little breathless gasps.

“Your moirail showed up right at the palace looking for you,” you tell him, so he doesn’t have to ask.  “You’re lucky she was brave enough to cross town.” ( _Even luckier I can’t stand it when you work later than me_ ) “—even luckier I was watching the front gate right then, Ampora, I was about to sign out for the night.  Miss Peixes was…” oh right, wait, she said not to call her that, shit.  And she’s…not even listening to you, so really, it doesn’t matter.  You trail off into a sort of undignified “…uh…”

Eridan makes a horrible noise all of a sudden, a cracked, tight scraping sound with an underedge that sets your teeth on edge like the noise of glass grinding.  Feferi flinches and pulls her hand away from him, and then shifts, lays him flat in a patch of dim sunlight and starts to get up.  She’s turned away from you but you see her fins rising, her shoulders hunching low and her claws flexing at her sides as she raises her head to look at his unconscious assaulters. 

And Eridan’s bloody hand clings to her wrist.

You don’t think you would ever want to be pale for someone again if you were him, but you guess you’ve never had a moirail, either.  He mumbles something you don’t catch and she sniffs and tries to pet his horns—he flinches, and you hate how vulnerable he looks for a second.  (He shouldn’t look scared, fuck him—) 

And then you take a few steps forward and you understand the way she went tense all over, understand the constant low snarl he’s soothing out of her.  His fins— _fuck._   His fins are tattered and shredded,  _pouring_ blood down his face and neck and shoulders.  You remember how he yelps and goes purple when you touch one unexpectedly in passing, how goddamned  _sensitive_  they are, and you imagine someone tearing at the inside of your nook with their claws, driving you wild with pain so they can force you calm again afterwards.  Your bile sack churns.

“…holy shit,” you hear yourself say distantly, and Eridan closes his eyes and doesn’t look at you.

You almost wish you did have a moirail, because trying to keep this boiling,  _thundering_ rage locked inside yourself on your own is physically painful.

“They’re going to pay,” you say, half to her, half to yourself, and it’s just barely enough, the thought of justice.  Just barely.  “They’re going to pay for this.” You come up next to her and crouch down; ED’s dark, broken eyes follow you dizzily through barely-open eyelashes.  “We’re taking you back to the palace, you want me to put you under, ED?”

He blinks slowly once, twice, and then nods.

He barely even needs a push; you snap your fingers and he jerks and then goes completely, finally limp.


End file.
